by Colt, K. J.
PENELOPE’S SHOULDERS MOVED STEADILY, THE muscles in her arms tensing and relaxing as she swept the floors. She was young and healthy, and long practice had given her ample stamina for the task, so that she hardly broke a sweat as she worked her way down the long corridor. It was one of those jobs that never seemed to end. By the time you had finished sweeping the entire labyrinth of Lancaster Castle, the floors were dirty again back where you had started. Consequently, the maids had someone sweeping almost constantly as Genevieve Lancaster would not tolerate dirty floors.
Penny didn’t mind though, the work was steady, and unlike most of her other tasks, she was able to think or daydream without interruption while she swept. Today she was thinking about Mordecai. She had watched him that morning as he had ridden out with the hunting party. Tall and slim, the riding leathers had looked uncommonly good on him, accented by his dark hair and bright eyes. To be so good looking and so stupid at the same time, she thought to herself. Their conversation the night before had upset her, and she was still angry with him. She kept telling herself that, but she just didn’t feel it. In all honesty, as she thought back, she was more ashamed and embarrassed than anything else.
When he said he knew what had happened... I just couldn’t bear it, she realized. Obviously Devon had been bragging, and so bold that he had even told Mort. And he was upset that Devon had called him a blacksmith! She knew Mordecai wasn’t as insensitive as that; he hadn’t meant it that way. Yet to tell her that he knew what had been done to her, and then say something else was more important? “What the hell could he have wanted to tell me then?” she said aloud to herself. Now that she had slept and her mind was clear, she could see that something had been bothering him, something important.
She kept sweeping, letting the rhythmic movement of her body relax her mind. She drifted, daydreaming as she worked, but Mordecai kept returning to her mind, until finally she saw him, as he must be now. He was riding hard, driving his horse through sparse woods and past large oaks. The sun was shining on his face, lighting his eyes like sapphires while he laughed and rode on. He looked over his shoulder to see something, and then he was flying. The horse fell, and she could see that it would never recover from such a fall. Mort flew from the courser’s back at the speed of a full gallop and went head first into the trunk of a large oak.
The force had been so great his head had sheared the bark from the tree where it struck. His body lay on the ground, blood running from his nose and mouth. He must surely be dead, yet even at that thought, new hope arose. His eyes fluttered, and she could see his chest heaving as he fought to draw air. The wind had been knocked out of him, or perhaps his ribs were broken, in either case it was a miracle he was alive. No one should survive such a blow. No one could survive such a blow. Magic! she thought, and she knew it had to be true.
Then she saw Devon Tremont approaching. He had dismounted and was walking up with a sinister gleam in his eye. He stopped when he reached Mordecai, and she saw him speak, gloating over his fallen foe. Mordecai went rigid, and his face began to turn red, while in the background Penny could hear a woman screaming, a raw ragged sound. The voice of someone beyond hope, someone with nothing left but one long note of despair rising up from the depths of their soul. Finally she realized it was her own voice.
Someone was shaking her, “Snap out of it! Penny! What’s wrong?!” Her eyes focused on the face of Ariadne Lancaster. She was staring at Penny with a worried look.
“He’s dead, he’s dead! Oh gods, I saw this before! Why? Why didn’t I tell him?” Penny was beyond distraught now. “Devon’s killed Mordecai.” The words fell from her mouth like dead leaves in autumn, dry and empty.
“Penny you’re dreaming. You’re in the hall. Mordecai isn’t here. He’s out hunting; everything is fine.” Ariadne tried to calm her down.
“I have to go—do you know where Lady Rose is? She’ll know what to do, please Ariadne, you have to help me.” Something in her eyes must have gotten through to the younger woman, because she answered her without further questions.
“She was in the parlor just a moment ago, taking tea with mother and Elizabeth,” she replied. “I don’t understand what’s wrong though...”
Penny was already running, and she reached the Duchess’ parlor well ahead of the younger girl. Without pausing to knock, she burst in, something she normally would not have dared to do. Inside she found Lady Rose sipping tea with Genevieve Lancaster and Elizabeth Balistair. They looked up in alarm at her sudden intrusion. The Duchess spoke first, “Penny, you really should knock before you come bursting in...”
Rose laid a hand on her arm, “Wait Genevieve, something is wrong.”
Penny shook her head, “Yes, yes, Your Grace, might I have a word with Lady Rose?”
Genevieve nodded, clearly annoyed, but she kept her peace. Rose stepped out into the hallway with Penny. “What’s the matter dear?” She sounded calm, but she could sense Penny’s desperation. Sparing few words, Penny described what she had seen, including the fact that this was not her first vision of the event.
“You don’t think this could be a dream? Or a moment’s fancy?” Rose asked.
“No, it’s real. I can’t explain how I know, I just do. It’s happening right now!” Penny was close to tears.
“Come then, there isn’t any time.” One remarkable thing about Rose Hightower was her ability to judge people, and she knew beyond doubt that what might be happening was deadly serious. She hurried down the corridors with Penny, all thought of stately manners forgotten, until shockingly, she hiked up her dress like a common maid and ran, long legs moving with surprising speed. Penny was hard pressed to keep up with her, and she considered herself a fair runner.
They reached the stables in record time and scared one of the young grooms half to death when they threw the doors open. “Pardon, milady!” he cried, unsure what to think.
“I need two horses now.” Rose said in a tone that brooked no argument. One could hardly tell she had, but a moment before, been running like a dairy maid late to milk the cows.
“Certainly ma’am,” he promptly answered and headed for where the palfreys were in their stalls.
“Not some placid mare, dolt! I need fast horses. Are any of the coursers left?” Rose barely raised her voice, but she sounded as if she were shouting all the same. Long minutes later, they were riding out the gate. Rose pulled up for a moment and looked at Penny, “Which way?”
Without thinking, Penny pointed, “That way, almost a mile off...” At this point she didn’t even care how she knew; she just needed to find him.
Some distance from them Dorian Thornbear was riding through the trees. He had heard a loud noise, and now there was the sound of a horse screaming in fear and pain. He nudged his mount to a faster pace and soon came into sight of the dying animal. It was lying on its side, feebly kicking with broken legs. He looked for the rider and spotted Devon Tremont nearby, standing over the fallen rider. He looked positively ominous. That was Mort’s horse! he thought to himself.
Kicking his horse into a gallop, he reached the spot in less than a minute. He might almost have thought Devon was there to help his fallen friend, but the man was standing quietly without moving to do anything. Then Devon noticed him, and his face twisted into a grimace, angry at being interrupted. Dorian could see Mort on the ground, his face red as he slowly suffocated. Without a second thought, Dorian drew his sword and leapt from his horse before it had even come to a stop.
Devon Tremont looked at him and lifted his hand, “Grethak,” he said, in some language Dorian did not recognize, but the warrior paid him no heed. Dorian came at him like a berserker from the legends, his face terrible to behold, and the young lord knew fear, for his spell had completely failed. He might have tried another, something more potent, but Dorian was on him already, sword sweeping out to remove his head. Quick as he was, Devon had his own sword out and stopped the stroke before it ended his life.
The exchange that followed wa
s brief. Dorian pressed him back, raining blows upon him with a speed and fury that Devon had never encountered. Despairing, he threw up his hands, “Wait! If you kill me he will die!” Lightning quick, Dorian struck the sword from his hand and had his blade against the other man’s throat.
“If he dies, you will follow,” the words grated from his throat like gravel, the sword pressing so hard against Devon’s neck that blood sprang up from the wounded skin.
“I was only trying to help. Let me try something, and it may save him!” Devon’s eyes were wide with fear. He could see his death in the other man’s eyes.
Dorian’s sword never moved. Instead he moved closer, and grabbing the young lord by the neck, he forced him to his knees alongside Mordecai’s now still form. “Save him now, or your head will join his upon the ground.” Without raising his voice, he radiated such violent intent that it would have chilled the heart of even a hardened killer.
Devon reached out to Mordecai, but Dorian jerked his head back roughly, “Betray me now, and you won’t live past your next breath.”
“I need to touch him, to get him breathing.” Devon was desperate with fear now, for he knew time was short, and the man holding him would kill him if Mordecai failed to recover.
Dorian nodded and Devon reached out again, “Keltis,” he said, and Mordecai’s body went limp, yet still he did not breathe.
“What did you do?!” Dorian kicked the other man sending him sprawling. Raising his sword he made ready to cleave the traitor’s head from his shoulders.
“Dorian no!” it was a woman’s voice, but Dorian didn’t care. He would have blood for his friend’s life. A small hand reached for his arm, to stay his strike. Without thought, he swatted the hand away, backhanding the one who sought to stop him, and then his eyes saw Rose Hightower falling back. That stopped him, and he saw her reach up to wipe the blood from her lip. His rage left him, as shock at what he had done brought him to himself.
“I was trying to help him—before this idiot brute attacked me!” Devon never managed to stay silent for long. Even now he was regaining his feet.
Rose spat at him, “Silence fool! You think your lies will be heard here? Count yourself lucky I stopped this man, else your head would be parted from your shoulders. Even so, I would not have saved you if I did not fear a good and honest man might hang for your murder.” Rose Hightower drew herself up and looked at Dorian.
“Gods! Rose! I’m so sorry! I never meant to hurt you. Never! Not for the world!” Dorian’s eyes were wild with grief, and he saw Penny kneeling next to his fallen friend. “He’s dead, Penny. He’s dead, and that bastard did it—I swear!” He raised his sword again, pointing it toward Devon Tremont, a growl rising in his throat.
Rose Hightower was having none of it, and she flung herself at Dorian, a flurry of skirts and hair whipping around her. “Stop it you stupid, stupid man! Goddammit Dorian, I won’t let you throw your life aside like some cheap token.” She was a tall woman, but Dorian Thornbear was a mountain of a man, still she climbed him like a furious cat, striking him with her fists.
Astonished, Dorian stopped. During his year in Albamarl, he had never touched Rose, and their only words had been the measured speech of polite society. Now she was hanging from him like some maddened wild creature—a more absurd picture he could not have imagined. He had a sudden urge to kiss her but suppressed it immediately. “Lady, I think perhaps we are both overwrought,” he said, as he began to disentangle himself. He managed to get her back on her feet, but Rose steadfastly refused to let go of him, and he no longer had the will to force her.
Penny was on the ground, her hands on Mordecai’s chest, gripping his shirt, “Live damn you! You can’t be dead. We still have too much to say,” her tears left wet spots on the cloth of his shirt. The pain and sorrow were too much for her, and without pausing to consider she leaned down to kiss him, ignoring the blood staining his face. She laid her head on his chest while her world unraveled, the only man she had ever cared for lay dead, and she was to blame. Then she heard his heart, beating slowly. “He’s alive!”
Silence reigned for a moment as everyone took in what she had said. “He’s alive I said! Someone get help, we need to get him back to the keep!” Her eyes flashed, “You!” She pointed at Devon, “Get someone, get everyone... go!”
“I’ll go,” said Rose, but Penny forestalled her with a raised hand.
“No, I need you here, and I don’t trust him without Dorian here,” she replied. Soon enough, Devon was on his horse, angry at being ordered about but fearful of Dorian’s response, should he balk at her commands. He rode off quickly and headed for Lancaster Castle.
The rest of the afternoon was a frenzied blur as they got him to the castle. Penny refused to leave his side during the entire affair, not trusting him out of her sight. Once Marc arrived, things got much more organized, and they soon had him in his bed. The Duke’s own physician, Sean Townsend, was sent to examine him.
The room was full of people, and the doctor quickly waved everyone out, “I’ll need some privacy to examine him.” Most of them went. “Miss, you will have to go. It is hardly proper for me to examine the young man with a woman present. I’ll have to undress him.”
Penny didn’t move, “I won’t leave him. So you might as well get to it.”
The physician looked at her for a moment before appealing to the Duke, “Your Grace, if you don’t mind, I can’t have women in here while I work.”
James walked over, reaching out to take her hand, but she stepped away, “Try it, you’ll draw back a nub next time...,” she glared at him. Then belatedly, she added, “Your Grace.”
The Duke of Lancaster stared at her for a long moment, considering, then spoke, “Very well. Doctor, you will just have to work with a lady present.”
“I have to remove his clothes, Your Grace, you can’t mean to let...” he started.
“I won’t repeat myself sir, be about your work,” without another word, the Duke left the room. The physician was huffy at first, but when he saw that she had no intention of giving in to him after having faced down a duke he relented.
His first move was to remove Mordecai’s clothing, which proved to be difficult, until Penny began assisting him. He gave her an odd look at first but said nothing. Once that was accomplished, he carefully went over Mordecai, checking his neck and chest, feeling his head and looking into his eyes and mouth. Eventually he sighed and stood up. “He’s got several cracked ribs, and I think one of them may have pierced his left lung. In addition, he certainly has a concussion from the blow to his head. From the description of his fall I’m surprised his neck wasn’t snapped, but something protected it. He should be dead already.”
“Well he’s not dead, so what do you plan to do?” Penny asked.
“There’s not much to be done, bleeding him might help a bit though. Let me get my case...” he headed toward the black leather bag he had left by the door.
The doctors had bled her mother ’til she was too weak to survive the illness that claimed her life. “You’re not bleeding him. He’s bled enough already, if that’s the best you have to offer, you can leave,” she said, standing between the doctor and the bed.
“Fine. You already seem to think you’re doctor enough.” Sean Townsend was annoyed. He had dealt with troublesome family members before, but this woman was beyond frustrating. “If he wakes, try not to let him go back to sleep, he might not wake again. Don’t get your hopes up though; he probably won’t make it through the night.” With that pronouncement he left. She could hear him muttering about stubborn women as he walked out the door.
Some of those who had been waiting outside filtered back in, anxious to hear what the doctor had said. Penelope related the physician’s words to them. There was quite a bit of discussion over that, but eventually most of them left, and finally only Marc, Dorian and Rose were still there.
“You should go get some rest Penny; fretting over him won’t help,” Marc said.
He started to argue, but Rose got his attention, “Let it go Marcus, she’s not leaving, and I don’t blame her. If you want to help, try to keep the rest of them out of here.”
“I can manage that,” Dorian said, “I’ll be outside, making sure his lordship doesn’t come back to finish the job. In the end only Rose remained, sitting with Penny through the long evening and into the night.
“You need some rest, Penny,” she said at last, when midnight was approaching.
“I’ll sleep here,” Penny replied.
“There’s only one bed, and it has a naked man in it,” Rose raised her eyebrow.
“Everyone knows I’m a ruined woman anyway, what more can they say about me? Leave me be, I’ll lie with him till it’s over,” she never took her eyes off Mordecai. Rose nodded, then stood, and without a word she left.
Once she was alone, Penny barred the door and removed her dress, she hadn’t brought her nightclothes, but she hardly cared. She eased under the covers and lay beside him, watching him breathe while the candles burned down and darkness covered the room. In the dark she still kept her hand on his chest, feeling it rise and fall, listening to the wet sound of his breathing. She never meant to sleep, but at last she did anyway.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Theologians generally divide the gods into two categories; the Dark Gods and those believed benign to humanity, the Shining Gods. Yet the ancients had other theories. They thought the nature and motivations of each particular deity must be related to its origins. The Dark Gods were thought to predate the Shining Gods, having arisen from the beliefs of some long dead race. The loss of their people may have driven them mad, for their relationship with mankind is anything but beneficial. While the Shining Gods derive their power from faith, in a mutualistic bond, the Dark Gods take their sustenance forcibly. Even those who worship them willingly are often subject to sacrifice and dark rituals.